


Lessons of Xerxes

by Acappella



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Hurt Roy Mustang, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mindfuck, PTSD, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Violence, Torture, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27132719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acappella/pseuds/Acappella
Summary: Prompt: Roy is a slave of the Xingese court given to Ed, a Xerxesian prince, during a peace meeting. This can be any rating from T to E. It all depends on how you want to write it.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Comments: 75
Kudos: 110





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I thought it'd be best to release this as soon as possible, as I don't know how long the next chapter will take to edit. My wonderful beta, Cissoye, and I are working on a new project with a lot of potential. And I'm still applying for an RP game, so that'll cut back on my time considerably. But I will continue this story for as long as there are people who want to read it.
> 
> Thank you for the comments and kudos I've received. They mean a lot to me~!!

The Colonel was in shackles, his ignition gloves having been confiscated. Grumman's judgment of General Raven's character left a considerable amount to be desired; however, the Colonel had only himself to blame. He's the one who opened his mouth, suggesting outright that the Fuhrer was a homunculus. 

He stood before the Senior Staff, trying to retain his sense of dignity shortly after his very private arrest. For now, he tried frantically to think of some way to salvage that which was essential to him. They must have regarded him as extremely dangerous, he thought with some amusement, to go so far as to shove his fists into these ridiculous leather drawstring bags, treating him with an overabundance of caution. It was true enough that, as the Flame Alchemist, he was a dangerous weapon.

But he doubted he'd live through this.

They knew of the Mustang's incorruptibility, and the Senior Staff were also aware that he could provide enough evidence of a government conspiracy, if only to the few news outlets who were comfortable taking that high a risk. It couldn't be spun to their advantage, which was why he was there.

He wondered what would happen next. Clicking his heels together, unable to salute, he used his most authoritative voice to say, "Sir. Lieutenant Hawkeye knows nothing. You are not to hurt her," a threat if ever he'd made one, the word, 'not' more a snarl than anything.

Bradley stepped closer, face mere centimeters from Roy's. He wore both his swords. "You surprise me, Colonel. Were you honestly under the impression that I would simply allow the insubordination you've committed to continue? I'd have thought you'd be more careful, especially following the death of Brigadier General Hughes. It's been eight months since he passed away. I don't understand why you humans get so worked up about a dead man. Further, I can't tolerate the killing of my brothers and sisters. You understand."

"I don't deny my involvement, but again, she knows nothing – none of them do. Should something happen to them: everything I've witnessed, every single thing I've learned, will come to public light. You can't afford to kill her or my men. I've accepted my own death and understand you'd want to eliminate me. I ask that you treat my men as the innocent soldiers they are," and he added, hating how weak he sounded, how incredibly weak his position was. "I'll do anything to protect them."

~o0o~

Ed refrained from holding his nose as they left the stables. As they walked across the yard toward the stone path leading to the palace, he felt the toe of his boot sink into something warm and firm. As a result, a colossal road apple spun in front of him, rolling and bouncing across the yard, changing its trajectory with every little pebble and dip it encountered. 

Ling let out a peal of laughter.

"Dammit, Ling!" Ed was sore as it was, and being laughed at for punting horse poop did little to improve his mood. Irritably, he complained, "I don't know why you keep those clods in with the real horses!"

"Oh ho ho, Ed! I didn't know you don't like horses. These big guys are called Clydesdales, not clods, and I can't help it if you like to play soccer with their turds." Ling patted one of their rumps as it passed. "They're vital for farming vegetables for the palace, which is how our kitchen can serve them so fresh. The vegetables, not the horses." Ling added, grinning and shortening his stride as he watched the Crown Prince of Xerxes slow down to rub the soreness of his bottom. "I guess we could put them in other stables, but that might upset them. You know that horses make friends, right? It would be mean of me to separate them from their smaller buddies."

Ed shrugged as they strolled up the path leading to the palace. "It's not that I don't like horses. They're beautiful and majestic when they're not dropping crap the size of my country in my path. The truth is that they don't much like me."

Ling nodded, hands clasped behind him as he walked, his disposition as sunny as always. "If you spent more time with them, you might remember to watch where you put your feet." His grin grew. "It's good advice for anyone."

"There is no way I'm going to ride one again, at least until I travel back home. I always end up with a sore ass and questionable muck on my boots."

"You know, my mother always told me never to say never because it'll end up biting you in the ass." Ling paused, thinking. "Which will only make it that much more tender... How about we make it interesting? I'll bet you five thousand cens you end up riding horseback again at least once before you go home." 

"Stop talking about my ass! Wait. Did your mother really say the word 'ass'?" 

"Are you afraid you'll lose the bet?" 

"Easiest money I'll ever make, Ling." Ed looked at the sky and saw that storm clouds threatened to roll in. Picking up his pace, he said, "Hey, I was thinking of the conversation we had the other night. You remember. We were both drunk, and you said something about astrology being as much of a science as alchemy. Tell me you don't believe that nonsense. You were just drunk-talking that night, weren't you?" 

"Of course I do. It's the truth, Ed. Here in Xing, we have found a method of identifying those souls most compatible with the person in question." The Emperor's sunny face was as relaxed and happy as ever. "It never fails, but that doesn't mean you don't have to work for what you want. Think about it ... long ago, people didn't believe in Alkahestry or Alchemy either, until they experienced it." 

"Sure, but there's no real evidence supporting your claim. There's a big difference between scientifically proven evidence and anecdotal evidence. However, much you believe in Astronomy means nothing if it's unsubstantiated. When I can read the paper, I can read the hypothesis behind the idea, observe or read about experiments, the results of which can be duplicated, then I'll believe. It's what we Alchemists call the scientific method."

"Well, I can't say I know much about science, but I know what I've seen and experienced."

As they entered the palace, the threatening clouds made good on their promise, pouring bucketsful of rain onto the earth. Ed frowned. They were going to get soaked if they didn't hurry.

"Alright, Ed. Guess I'll just have to prove it to you."

"Sure. But not today. I'm hungry and tired. And it's getting cold." Ed pocketed his hands, protecting them from the sudden cold and the oncoming storm. In truth, he thought it laughable that the charming Emperor of a country as large as Xing touted superstition as fact. This was just the kind of prattle that made Ed hate diplomacy. It was Al who had a real gift for it, and he also enjoyed it for reasons he found unfathomable. It wasn't as though Ed didn't like Ling. They were friends. He simply preferred his own work and letting Al do what he did best.

But in this case, the Emperor had insisted Ed himself represent Xerxes during their peace conference. So Al had given him a crash course on diplomacy. At this stage, all he really had to do was smile and keep his temper in check, no matter what. The prince wasn't supposed to mock his fellow monarch, even affably. Edward had known and been friends with Ling for a while, arguing that they mocked one another and laughed all the time, and it wasn't mean-spirited (as Al insisted it was). Edward gave him a nod and a smile, encouraging Ling to continue, "I've used the astronomical method to choose my wife, my servants… and my slaves. It has yet to fail me." 

"Huh. I didn't know you even had slaves." And for the thousandth time over the last two weeks, he wished he could have remained at home. He'd had no choice but to be the one to make nice, and now, not only was his ass killing him, he just learned the friend he had respected didn't respect human life as Ed had assumed. He found it deeply troubling. And he remained confused about why Ling insisted they spend the day together while refusing to discuss anything remotely political, preferring to chatter about anything, so long as it was superficial. Ling knew that Ed's time was limited, especially now that he'd been allowed to take on some of the governing of Xerxes.

"I didn't until I moved into the Royal Palace, Ed. Look, they were gifts. They're also well cared for. And they receive expensive presents themselves. Most are people who want to serve as slaves here in the Royal Palace, and vie for the honor."

"Most? What about those who don't want to be someone else's property?" Ed told himself he was treading thin ice, but he had to know. And his skeptical mind couldn't help but wonder whether anyone would willingly give up their freedom. 

It reeked of propaganda to him.

"Nothing's perfect, Ed. You should know that better than anyone."

Disgusted as he was by this topic, Ed decided it best to change it. "Fair enough, I guess. Hey, is it true that you married 50 women?" 

"Just the one. You're thinking of my father. Hey, how would you like to meet Lan Fan? She's beautiful and a tigress, too. I'll arrange for an intimate dinner sometime soon."

"I look forward to it." Ed wondered what 'soon' meant to the Emperor. He needed to get back home soon. At this rate, he'd never return to his homeland and the people there who desperately needed him. 

But Ling had insisted it be Ed who represented Xerxes in their peace talks. Ed resigned himself to the useless pageantry that accompanied such international affairs. He'd even gone so far as to spend a night drinking competitively with Ling, who proceeded to hand him his ass. Why was that necessary to discuss terms under which their countries would ally themselves with one another?

Admittedly, it'd been fun, but the young Emperor's metabolism handled his liquor the same way as it did the enormous amounts of food he stuffed in his face, so it shouldn't have been a surprise to find he how easily he could drink Ed under the table. 

Ed spent the day afterward with a spectacular headache, any movement whatsoever sending him rushing to hover over the toilet. The day after that was only slightly better. Al had reported that the Emperor had been his peculiar and pleasant self during Ed's convalescence, causing him to wonder if the man had actually had anything to drink at all. He wouldn't put it past Ling to cheat.

Ling turned with Ed into the wing where he and Al's suite were located. Ling addressed Ed's guard and appointed servant. "Would you be so kind as to let us in, Ms. Yang?"

Ed merely watched, confused by the Emperor's request. Whenever he visited the Forbidden Palace, he was told that his suite was his home for so long as he remained in Xing, and anyone wishing to enter would have to have to gain his permission first. For Ling to ask Ed's servant to open his suite (without first asking Ed) was a definitive breach of court decorum. Not that he had anything to hide, it was just that it never happened before, and it felt intrusive. Undoubtedly, the Emperor was aware of the custom and chose to walk in without preamble, leaving Ed to wonder what was going on. With Ling, who really knew?

The Emperor entered the suite first, striding energetically through the large living area, across the dining room's marble floor, and directly through the master bedroom's double-door with Ed right behind him. Later, Ed would recall that Ling had spent the day brimming with nervous energy, true even now as he lowered his voice and whispered as though sharing a secret, "I've been waiting for this all day." Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the monarch turn to face him directly and gesture toward his bed. 

Entering behind Ling, Ed caught sight of a man reflected in the dressing mirror and instantly spun in that direction.

To find an anonymous man lying face down and unconscious among his pillows.

Ed had no idea what to think, his mind having gone tabula rasa at the sight. The Emperor was quick to let him off the hook. Bursting with excitement, practically shouting with delight, Ling said, "It's my gift to you, Ed! I know you've never had one yourself, so I shopped around and decided it'd be perfect for you. You can train it yourself if you want. I hope you like it, aaaand... I'll leave you to it." 

For a minute, all Ed felt was appalled. Appalled by the Emperor's lack of empathy. Appalled by the condition this person was in. Shocked that Ling actually left an unconscious man, naked and vulnerable, in his bed. 

This was sick. Beyond sick. He could see the man was a brunet and... Ed swallowed. He was exquisite and exactly Ed's type. But he couldn't... He couldn't think like that now. Ed swallowed the enormous lump forming in his throat, stunned that Ling had presented this man to him in so degrading a manner. It was surreal, more disturbing than anything he'd ever experienced in Xing, certainly beyond anything he'd expected from its Emperor.

Wait, the situation was more urgent, much more critical than he'd first recognized. Ed turned on the light and stepped forward, squinting as evening descended. He sat on the edge of the mattress and leaning over to get a good look at him. Ed could see the man had horrible lacerations like stripes vertically crossing his back. It looked like a doctor had stitched him up, but still, the skin was almost lost in between the swollen wounds. Edward reached out to touch his face, just to push his bangs out of his eyes. Quickly pulling his hand back, he knew the man was burning with fever. He wore bruises all over his skin, blossoming crimson and purple like splashes of paint on the pale canvas of his body. There was a deep, human bite mark on his neck. He covered his mouth instinctively when he saw that the man's hands, wrapped in bloody bandages, were missing thumbs altogether. 

His eyes were closed above sooty lashes and dark bags. 

Why had this been done to him? 

He shouldn't have been surprised to see a choke collar wrapped around the man's neck, the other end, a leash in the hands of Jian Yang, who held it out to hand over to the Xerxesian Prince.

Despite having recently learned that diplomacy disallowed shows of outrage or disgust regarding another's culture, no matter the circumstances: this was too much. "What the hell, Ling? He needs a doctor! He needs a damn automail engineer!" 

"Relax, Ed. It's not going to die; it's just been green broke. I've been told that you can play with it as soon as tonight, assuming it wakes." Ling explained as though it were perfectly normal. His smile was crisp, the tone of voice as warm and casual as ever. "I think it's half Amestrian/half Xingese, but it's obviously a thoroughbred where it counts. I wouldn't worry about that unless you decide to breed it. I honestly doubt it will try to hurt you, but if it does, well, I know you're nearly as good a fighter as I am, so you can manage it. If it's too much of a handful, feel free to let Ms. Yang know. She'll engage the palace trainers to complete its training and teach it anything special you want. And Ed, I do mean anything. I'm told that it's an alchemist specializing in fire, snapping its fingers to produce the flames. So, it was decided to cut off its thumbs to make it less dangerous." Leaning forward with his ubiquitous smile, Ling stage-whispered loudly enough to echo throughout his rooms. "I know what appeals to you as far as lovers go." Ling slipped out as quickly as he could, calling from the door. "Have fun tonight!" 

Ed couldn't believe what he was hearing; his Royal Majesty had leapt off the deep end. Sure the guy teetered on that brink as it was, but still, he wasn't acting like the Ling he knew at all. He couldn't actually mean that he expected him to... what? Rape the poor man? Could he? Did he? 

Ed stumbled after him, flinging open the door to shout across the hallway, "Hey! Ling! This man's been badly hurt! Hey, are you  
.listening to me? Ling, this is serious!" Ed's voice rose urgently, face reddening in frustration and rage. It took tremendous effort to hold himself back from beating the grin off the other monarch's face. 

Ling lifted a hand dismissively as he continued to walk away, calling over his shoulder, "Of course it's hurt. As I said, it's just been green broke. But if you don't like it, you can give it back. And I'll buy you a more experienced one if that's what you want." 

Oh, hell, no! He would not return this man to Ling's custody; he held no illusions as to what this poor soul's life would be if he didn't accept him now. Edward stifled a shudder. 

His advisors, especially Al, had been specific. Ed could not afford a misstep here. These peace talks had been nonexistent so far; he couldn't afford any setbacks. And Ed had barely been able to temper his outrage. As far as he knew, he may already have lost the chance at a damn strong ally. 

As hateful as the situation was, Ed called back to Ling to salvage the talks, "Of course, I'll take him! And thanks, Ling. I'm just... overwhelmed, I think. He's very... uh... pretty," he added lamely. 

There! He hoped he'd jumped that hurdle intact.

"Just put it to good use, Ed, and give me the details later," the Emperor said, turning a corner to disappear.

Ed sighed in relief and, remembering his rage and frustration, slammed the door shut behind him. "That Ling's a monster!" Ed shouted, stabbing a finger in the direction of the door.

"You mustn't speak of the Emperor in that manner, Mr. Ed." Ms. Yang lectured, her demeanor as calm and relaxed as always. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And not so loudly."

"You know what he left in my bedroom? Is it the Emperor's custom to torture people he's taken as slaves?"

Jian Yang averted her eyes for a minute but returned her gaze to his, everything in her look broadcasting her dedication to her Emperor. "Can I do anything for you or for the man in your bed?"

"No, not now. But... thank you, Ms. Yang."

"You're welcome. Mr. Ed? Let me know if there's anything you do need. Anything at all. I'd like to help you. Both." Jian Yang bowed and left the suite to guard the door.

Ed sighed and returned to the bedroom, painstakingly loosening the slip knot and lifting the collar over the unconscious man's head. "Don't worry," he murmured, "I'll take care of you. No one will treat you like this again." 

~o0o~

When he saw him walking through the bars of his cell, he couldn't believe it.

It was him. It was really him.

It wasn't possible, but there was no denying he was right here. Roy remembered the way Maes' eyes crinkled in the corners when he smiled, that he smiled all the time, as he was right now. Shushing Roy before he exclaimed his shock and joy, he picked the lock quickly, letting himself in. "Dear God, Roy. What are you doing here?"

"Maes! You're alive. We all thought you'd been killed. Where have you been, how--"

Hughes interrupted him with a sharp and fierce shush, and leaned out of the door to check the tunnel, right and left, for signs of anyone else who might have been around. "I'll tell you all about it later, Roy, but right now, we have to get you out of here and fast."

"I can't leave, Maes. I just can't. I'm here as insurance for Riza and my team's safety. None of them know a thing, but they're using me to ensure that they don't know what I know. If I try to leave, they'll be hurt. Possibly worse."

Hughes flashed him his enormous, confident grin -- one that never failed to made him feel better. "Then it's a good thing your best friend is well connected. Don't worry, Roy. We've already got them out of town. They're safe -- it's you who I'm worried about."

"I'm fine, more bored than anything else."

"I can help you with that. We have a long walk ahead of us and a long ride, but we have to get you out of here now. Believe it or not, I'm pretty familiar with these catacombs, so leave it to me. I'll get you to safety."

"Is it safe? I don't have ignition gloves, and there's a homunculus who drops by daily, I think, to give me food and water. He might be close, for all I know. It's easy to become disoriented down here. I have no idea if it's day or night out. All I know is that he hasn't come by to drop off food and water for a long time."

They passed multiple cells walking down the corridor, which curved as far as he could see. "It's a long walk, Roy, but it is morning, so I'm sure it's safe at the moment unless they feed you breakfast."

The Colonel's grin faded a little at that. "I have no idea when they come, but they don't bring breakfast food. How did you hide your death from the military?"

"I found a private alchemist to make my corpse. I'm sorry. I had to hide because I found out what this country has planned for everyone in its borders--"

"I know some of what's been planned. That's why I'm here."

"Does anyone else know?"

"Of course not. I couldn't put my team in that kind of danger."

"Smart." 

They traveled in companionable silence until they saw a staircase leading up. "Is that it?" Roy asked, excited to get out of this place after so many weeks.

"Yeah. I hope you know you can't remain in Central. None of the others are -- they've already left for Xing. I thought the two of us could hide out in Xerxes. What do you say?" Hughes waited, pushing his glasses up his nose with his index finger.

"You're right about that. Xerxes will be fine, Maes, thank you. I assume Gracia and Elicia know?" Roy grabbed the railing and leapt up, two stairs at a time.

"Of course! I'm sorry about keeping you in the dark. I didn't dare show my face in Central until I'd been dead for a while. Then Gracia told me you disappeared, so here I am."

"You're a good friend, Maes," Roy said, his voice infused with warmth.

Maes laughed. "You're right about that."

They took a train from the outskirts of Central to a station Northeast of the capital, stopping only to buy supplies for their journey. Roy had no idea how Maes managed to get money; he had to have been saving for a long time, probably in case something precisely like this occurred. He would never have thought his best friend to be that paranoid, but it served him well. He wondered why he hadn't thought of it himself. There was no way his account hadn't been frozen by now.

Near the station, there was a stable that rented horses for the desert crossing. It was expensive, and Hughes paid for it without so much as a complaint. With enough water to last at least to Xerxes, if not Xing, they left for the long desert hike, Roy grinning for the joy of his best friend still among the living.

Once Roy's horse stepped into the desert, Maes reminded him, "When we're in the desert, it's important to conserve body water, so it's best not to speak."

"Really." 

"Roy. I know this desert. Take my word for it."

~o0o~

"Finally! Here we are. And there's the rental place. We'll need to turn in the horses."

"Alright. Where's your friend Hohenheim?" During their journey, Hughes had mentioned that he'd moved here and got Roy an apartment. He'd move his family here as soon as an appropriate time for his wife to mourn him had passed. The very minute he'd heard the news of Roy's disappearance from Gracia, Maes told him, he'd gone to see his friend that they were meeting to arrange for a small home where he could live. Next, he rented his horse and was off to Central. Maes explained that he, too, had been imprisoned in the cells beneath Central Command and escaped. 

The two of them swung down from their horses, guiding the hot animals to their owners. "As it happens, I'm waiting for the guy we need to meet right at the gates around noon. Until then, we shouldn't leave the area."

"Alright. Why are we meeting this guy?" Roy looked around, and Xerxes seemed a decent place, especially compared to the Amestrian Military dungeon. He saw a few shady characters in an alleyway, but other than that, it wasn't that much different from Amestris, other than the ancient architecture, some of which showed old dirt and cracks. There were even a few children, dirty and wearing rags, running through the open area. 

"There he is," Maes said, grabbing Roy by the elbow. Roy looked in the same direction Maes did, and before he could process what was happening, his best friend took him by the wrist, snapping him backward by the arm, pinning him against his body. Hughes' own arm slipped around Roy's neck, not once, but twice, trying to choke him out. Roy brought up both hands, confused and dizzy, but wrapping his hands around one of the arms choking him, he pulled downward, leaning forward to buck him up and over. Maes was inexplicably heavier and more robust than was possible for any human. Then thought left him altogether in his struggle to breathe. 

Two of the three men who Maes had pointed out each took one of his arms, and Maes released his hold. They quickly pulled his arms behind his back, locking his wrists in wooden stocks, and Maes wasn't Maes at all, but a native of Xerxes, and he actually smirked at him.

What was happening? And then it hit him. It hadn't been Maes who "rescued" him -- this had to be the homunculus, Envy, who Russell and Fletcher Elric told him about, the one that could change his appearance.

A thin piece of leather was draped over his head, falling around his neck. Fingers twisted through his hair, and abruptly, pain razed his scalp, his head yanked violently back. He heard a click, and once again, his head followed his scalp, jerked to the side for a second click. One of the men used what he can only assume was a leash, pulling the collar snugly around his neck. The other man released him entirely, now that he was thoroughly restrained. "Wait! What about Riza? What about my men? Did you lie about everything? Tell me, you bastard!" 

The collar tightened to the point of discomfort, and Roy turned briefly to the man who held the leash, eyes flashing.

"Shut up, slave. Some advice -- don't add unnecessarily to your pain." 

Roy would have called him out on it, but he needed to talk to the homunculus and turned in his direction. 

Too far away for Roy to hear, he watched as Envy took money from one of the blond men -- the one who hadn't participated in attacking him. He was still too stunned to comprehend the magnitude of the turn of events. A second later, staggering under a blow that came out of nowhere, Roy spun to face his attacker and recognized he hadn't the ability to return the favor. Instead, he locked his eyes on him, watching for another blow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I included a couple of horse references, and if you got one or both, kudos! The first is green broke, which means a horse who has recently learned to accept a rider or a saddle on its back. The other is when Ms. Yang refers to Edward as Mr. Ed. Mr. Ed was an old black-and-white television series by the same name featuring a talking horse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story began as a kink meme prompt fill but quickly took on a life of its own. It's the longest story I've ever written at >50k and more writing to be done. I don't write quickly. I'm pleased with the plot, and I hope it's not too much of a breach of etiquette to post it here. I asked A03 and OTW if it was okay and never heard back. 
> 
> Prompt: Roy is a slave of the Xingese court given to Ed, a Xerxesian prince, during a peace meeting. This can be any rating from T to E. It all depends on how you want to write it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this chapter a few days ago, but time got away from me. Anyway, here it is, and I hope you enjoy it. This chapter gets a bit intense. If you have the time and inclination, I love constructive criticism, so please feel free to help me become a better writer. :)
> 
> Many thanks to my beta reader, Cissoye. She's every kind of awesome there is.

Once again, Ling proved to Mei how annoying he could be. As she and Al ate their breakfast together, a servant arrived at their suite to announce that Ling requested her presence, hers solely, and as soon as possible. She finished her meal before leaving their suite because she refused to allow her half-brother's agendas to interfere with her life, even for something as trivial as breakfast. 

At first, she'd been angry that Ling dared to summon her when he could just as easily have visited. She and Al roomed together when at the palace, and so once he explained, Ling's motive quickly became evident. 

He wanted to separate her from her boyfriend.

Ling, whatever his purpose might be, asked her to lie to both Alphonse and Prince Edward, but as unreasonable a "request" as it was, he was still the Emperor. She had no choice but to comply. He warned her not to contradict what he might say and to play along with a particular event that would come to light later that day. Those were his exact words. Even worse, he refused to explain what that event might be or the reason behind his request, which she found exasperating in itself.

Mei stewed in her displeasure. Ooo, he could be so rude, and the idea of having to lie to her sweet Alphonse didn't thrill her. She'd hold her peace during this, instead of resorting to lying on behalf of Ling.

"Don't worry," he had said. "I'm his brother's best friend and the Emperor of Xing. He'll understand when I explain it all later. Oh. It might be best for you to get your medical kit together."

She stood over the stove cooking dinner, trying to put Ling out of her mind. She startled when Prince Edward burst into their suite, more frantic than she'd ever seen him. He babbled urgently, something about Ling giving him a person.

"What do you mean, he gave you a person?" Al asked.

"It's a slave. I mean, he gave me a slave. I'll free him, but he's still my responsibility. Mei, I need you to come to my room."

Mei shut down the burner, moving to her and Al's room to get her things. She froze upon hearing that last exchange between the brothers. This had to be what Ling had been talking about. But why would Ling tell her to play along? Slavery was perfectly legal in Xerxes, although she knew Edward was fiercely against it. Ling knew that as well, so she couldn't guess as to his motives.

She heard them talking from the room where she kept her medical supplies. Distracted, she slowly gathered what she'd need, cursing herself for not having done it earlier, as Ling told her. 

"Brother, you can't just come in here and order my girlfriend around." 

"But it's an emergency. I still can't believe Ling gave me a slave, and I don't know what they did to him, but he's badly hurt. Mei! I need you to hurry!"

"Okay, but you can still ask nicely as she gets what she needs." 

"You're right, Al," Ed replied, obviously distracted. He turned, calling down the hall where Mei had disappeared. "Sorry for the interruption, Mei. Please be quick. He's injured and running a fever. Please help him." 

"I will, Ed. Just gathering the last of my things." Edward had never said the word please to her. All she had wanted for tonight was a cozy dinner with her boyfriend, but of course, Ling's machinations destroyed her humble dream for the evening. 

She'd kill Ling for putting her right in the middle of this ridiculous scheme, although with Ling, she never really knew what he was thinking. He played dumb so often that she couldn't always gauge between that and the cunning of which she knew him capable.

Hoping she had everything she'd need, she padded out to where the brothers were talking. It was a good thing that Prince Alphonse, kind, gentle-spirited, and highly intelligent, used those talents toward his responsibility to his country, as well as his brother. In contrast, the higher-strung Ed used his time and position for intellectual pursuits to affect positive change for his countrymen. 

Grabbing her bag and a few intravenous medications just in case, Mei strode toward the foyer of her and Alphonse's place. She made her way to the front door, finding the Crown Prince wearing a sheepish grin. She smiled at him and reached out to Alphonse, the two of them grasping the other's hand. Turning to Ed, she said, "I think your injured friend would be more comfortable if there were only," she glanced at Alphonse, swinging their hands back and forth, "the two of us there." 

"Yeah, Mei. You're right! Brother, what do you think?" Al asked.

Ed smiled at his brother, squeezing his upper arm. He took Mei's bag to carry, saying, "Thanks, Al. I promise to have her home at a decent hour. I can't thank you enough, Mei."

"Brother, I think she meant... Okay. But I'm counting on you to keep your promise." He leaned down and gave Mei a quick, chaste kiss. "I'll be waiting for you, Mei.." 

And Ed said, "We need to hurry."

~o0o~

After the transaction, the man who purchased him took custody of the leash attached to the collar around his neck. He tucked the deed into a briefcase, leading Roy out of the alley, and the two men who came with him followed behind. Roy's new owner had a good ten inches on him in height and significantly more mass. He was undeniably attractive for his age; Roy guessed he had at least fifteen years on him, making him approximately forty-four, forty-five years of age. He had gold eyes and hair, traits he noticed were shared by most of the people living there. 

He held himself with confidence, wrapping the leash around one wrist, both hands clasped behind him. The posture reminded Roy of Bradley, but he decided to give him the benefit of the doubt despite the circumstances. He was probably a reasonable man from a culture very different than that of Amestris. 

"You're quite a beauty, and frankly, you were a bargain," the blond man said. "You should know that I don't tolerate misbehavior of any kind. You'll need training, of course; we'll get you started on that once we arrive at my estate."

Roy digested what he'd said, thinking how odd it was to remark on his looks, but putting it on the back burner, he addressed a more pressing concern. "What kind of training?"

When he stumbled and fell, the collar tightened. Unable to break his fall with his hands cuffed behind his back, he turned his head to avoid hurting his nose. He hit the road hard, expelling the air from his lungs. 

Roy tried to gasp oxygen back into them. The men and his owner stood above him, looking down pitilessly. As he pulled his legs beneath his body to climb back to his feet, the colonel struggled to draw breath as the blond man planted his foot in Roy's ribs, drawing the leash even closer to himself, tightening the collar around Roy's neck.

Roy fought to free his hands of the stocks, experiencing a cognitive echo of the event; a memory of what he hadn't entirely realized at the moment, that one of these men deliberately tripped him. As his lungs worked against the lack of air, dizziness and confusion fogged his mind, the pain of the strangulation consuming all thought outside of it.

"Call me Master," the man said. He watched Roy clinically, who continued to fight and thrash. "Anything less will be punished severely. Never forget that you are property and expected to perform your function to the best of your ability." He relaxed the leash, leaving Roy coughing and heaving as he sucked in his first frantic and hungry breaths. 

Roy's eyes narrowed at the man. So, his Master was a miserable bastard. And who knew what sort of punishment might be meted out when he inevitably angered him again -- he planned to escape long before having to find out.

"Apologize to me." 

The tone of the man's voice was rigid and cold, and given his temper, no matter how hard and humiliating it might be, Roy had to make himself do this, quelling his instinct to fight. He spoke through clenched teeth, face heating, hands balling into fists. "I apologize, Master."

"Better." The other man removed his foot from Roy's side. "Get up."

They passed the rest of their walk in silence, and the Amestrian saw what he assumed to be slaves everywhere, some bearing heavy loads, some sweeping and cleaning, as others constructed new homes and buildings. Most of their bodies wielded a brand, and Roy, horrified and uneasy, had to work to keep from thinking about it. He assumed he'd be used for manual labor.

The neighborhood where they entered the capital had hidden a great deal of its wealth. The closer the men came to the estate, it seemed, the newer and cleaner the city looked. Everywhere he cast his gaze, the architecture had an open quality about it, probably to allow the wind to cool the indoor spaces. He noted the use of arches above the doors, and inside, he saw plenty of cool colors, blues, and greys and muted purples used as shades and curtains in the windows of stores and residences. Even here, there were creatures of the desert, chameleons and other lizards, spiders the size of his hands.

He'd never see anything like them, even in Ishval. 

"This is my home away from home," the Master said.

Roy took it in, unable to be anything other than impressed by its size and beauty. The patio stretched along the length of the building. They had to climb a set of fifteen stairs to reach it. In contrast to the arches seen throughout the city, the builders had erected six tall columns, holding up a covered roof. 

Roy saw elegant, simple furnishings there, and his Master gestured toward a seat, inviting him to sit. "Thank you, Master," he said, continuing to soak it all in.

"From now until you die, you're Number Forty-Six. You will forsake your name and answer only to that. Anytime you're in my company, you will not sit on the furniture, but kneel on your knees and heels instead, looking to myself for instruction and permission."

Confused, Roy tentatively stood to move to the floor, climbing down to his knees and leaning back on his heels. He turned his gaze to the Master, remaining quiet, as he wasn't sure how to ask for permission to speak, despite having questions. 

The Master stepped toward him, moving behind him, and bent, his mouth so close to Roy that he could feel his breath against his neck and ear. "Any questions?"

Roy feared asking, knowing that silence was the wisest move until he learned more about the man and standard slave protocol. He would observe the other slaves and ask them for pointers until he comprehended precisely what was expected of him.

Until he could escape, of course. Roy would have to endure this man until he learned enough about the home's routine and found the safest route to escape and flee to Xing. Their laws disallowed slavery.

"None that I can think of, Master."

"Excellent. My slaves only speak when I directly address them. Rise and follow me."

Roy was led through the labyrinth that was the Master's home, taking in the simplicity of the decor, the incredible smells wafting from the kitchens as they passed, stepping down a short flight of stairs to a landing where two other staircases met, one down, one up. They took the stairway up until they reached another landing, going up again, across a hall, turning left, and climbing a set of stairs up again. Another flight of stairs took them up, and they walked a long corridor. Another, down this time, through a short hall and up again, to the right and through a long hall. At its end, there was a locked door that took a key to pass. Walking further through another long corridor, the Master unlocked the next door, too. It didn't take Roy long to surmise that the stairs, the halls, and the series of doors were designed to keep slaves from escaping. Perhaps the entire labyrinth had been built just for that. 

Finally, they stepped through a third door at the end of it all, the Master calling out, "Twenty-One!"

Twenty-One, Roy presumed, a naked blond man, appeared and lowered himself in a kneel that the colonel could only describe as obscene. 

"You may rise, Twenty-One. This is Forty-Six. Show him his room and explain his duties and the rules of the house. Forty-Six, hand me your clothes. And teach him how to kneel properly Twenty-One. He made a real mess out of his first kneel out on the porch."

"Yes, Master," said Twenty-one. 

The man was insane if he thought Roy would agree to that. He refused to take off his clothes and kneel the way Twenty-One had. He had no interest in disgracing himself. And that wasn't kneeling; it was exposing the most intimate parts of his body to the man. 

"No," he snarled despite recent experience and his military training screaming at him to obey. "I won't do it. What does degrading myself have to do with work?"

Which was a stupid thing to say, as again, the leash was pulled, the collar that much tighter around his upper neck, closing his esophagus entirely. Despite his hands being unrestrained at the final door, the collar was too taut, too constricted for him to wedge his fingers beneath, leaving him out of oxygen and writhing on the floor. The Master waited longer than he had previously, releasing the tension as Roy's vision pulsed red behind his eyelids.

He rolled up on his hands and knees, coughing fiercely, his throat hurting enough for him to think it might be damaged. Twenty-One was by his side, rubbing the pain from his neck and thwapping him on the back, trying to help him. His head next to Roy's, he whispered barely loud enough for the brunet to hear, "Don't cross him, Forty-Six. I'll explain later."

The colonel shook his head vigorously, hacking the last of his coughs. Once he could speak, his voice grown raspy, he said, "Go fuck yourself."  
The Master sagged, disappointment clear on his face. "I expected better of you – you seem smart. I'll give you an option: which do you want to keep: your foot or your cock?"

"Wha--? You're bluffing." Roy knew the man was deadly serious, but he didn't want to believe it.

"Decide which one before I decide for you."

Roy paused, reading the other man's expression. Based on what little he knew of the man, he wouldn't put it past him and answered, "Both. I want to keep both," he said, clenching his teeth and adding, "Master."

"Then undress and kneel properly."

"Yes, Master," Roy repeated absently, feeling utterly destroyed.

"Good." The large man loosened the collar, lifting it up and off of Roy's neck. "Now disrobe and hand me your clothes. You bring up a good point. Apparently, I didn't make myself clear." As the colonel pulled his shirt up and over his head, the blonde man reached out to take it. The man watched Roy with an intense, fixed stare and continued, "You've been purchased as a sex slave. Being an object of desire is your function. I was told you had some experience in this, but clearly, the slaver lied." Roy found the man's smile to be a disturbing image, one of the most discomfiting things he had ever been exposed to. "That means you're even more of a bargain than I originally believed." 

When Roy unzipped his pants, he reddened. pulling down his slacks and stepping out of them, and he handed them over to the Master, who said, "Boxers, too." Another wave of impotent fury washed over him, and with obvious reluctance, he slipped out of them.

"Twenty-One?"

"Yes, Master." Twenty-One turned to the brunet and, pasting a smile on his face, said, "Forty-Six. First, you go to your knees, like this." He lowered himself a second time, staying up on his knees. "Rest your weight on the balls of your feet to keep your heels up, like this. Now, you sit on your heels, and keep your back straight." He lightly slapped Roy's nearest calf to encourage him to do the same. Roy followed his directions and knelt. "Rest your hands on your knees."

The Master took a look, and frowning, kicked Roy's knees apart, further spreading his legs. "That's better."

Roy seethed with rage and humiliation. He was an alchemist; he was Colonel Roy Mustang, and he would escape as soon as an opportunity presented itself -- possibly sooner. Alchemy was convenient in situations like this. 

Twenty-One said, "Straighten your back and keep your hands on your knees. Yes, just like that."

"Better. You look good naked and open, Forty-Six. My sex slaves are not allowed to hide their bodies from anyone. Yours is incredible -- I don't know why you would want to. You were born to do this." 

Now, both of you may rise," and as they regained their feet, the Master said his goodbyes. "I look forward to seeing you soon, Forty-Six. And don't concern yourself, Twenty-One, this one is smart, if unwise."

"Yes, Master," Twenty-One said, and he softly elbowed Roy, who echoed him.

When the Master left, Roy turned to Twenty-One, ready to ask a question. Twenty-One gently took his elbow to steer him down the hall. 

"The Master doesn't have a lot of rules, but," the blond took him into a vacant bedroom, looking right and left to ensure no one was listening, and closed the door behind them, "but some, he makes up on the spot. I'm sure you've noticed that he takes pleasure in hurting his sex slaves, so he'll make up excuses to do it. Until you're alone with him, and then he doesn't bother." Twenty-One sat on the bed across from Roy. "Since you're new, that means he'll be tough on you, at least until he finds a new one who catches his interest. The thing is that I can tell he likes you a lot. That's not good. Be careful. He tortured Thirty-Nine to death."

A jolt of anxiety started Roy's hands shaking, his heart pounding too quickly as a flurry of thoughts whirled through his head. Roy had the presence of mind to give the other man his condolences before asking about what he must have misunderstood. "He really meant it. We're sex slaves?"

Twenty-One's expression hadn't exactly been happy when the Master introduced them, and on hearing Roy's question, it twisted to one of being pained. Quietly, he asked, "Forty-Six, you want to survive, don't you?"  


"Of course, I just--." Roy broke off. There was little left to say. While he could hardly claim he didn't like sex, this wouldn't be sex. It would be rape, and that, more thoroughly even than being enslaved, would strip him of his teetering self-respect. And he was expected to endure it at his Master's whim. He couldn't. He just-- was there nothing to be done? Panicking wouldn't get him anywhere, and the other slave seemed to understand.

"I know how you feel. The idea of it happening is scary and overwhelming -- I get it. But it becomes easier. Really. And soon, the Master will find someone else, and he won't want to hurt you so often. I rarely get called for these days at all. When you're back in your room, cry, scream -- do whatever you need to do to stay sane when you're away from him -- and please, keep your life. He's not worth dying over. If you do die, then he wins."

He already has, Roy thought, and closed his eyes, floundering in this hideous reversal of fortune, counting his breaths to get control of himself. It took him a while, but Roy was able to regain his composure. He had to learn how to survive in this pit of hell. He was an alchemist, and he would escape. He would. His mind jumped all over, flitting from one random thought to the next. Finally, he gave a short nod to the other man. "Alright. What are the rest of the rules?"

Twenty-One smiled ruefully. "Other than calling him Master, the most important thing is to obey him quickly. Keep in mind that his demands can be... um... difficult. You'll eventually grow to accept your place and even what he does to you. This next thing is hard but important. You can't show how much you hate what's happening to you. Pretend to enjoy it. That's not strictly a rule so much as it's excellent advice. Never forget that. What else? You have to keep your room and yourself clean at all times unless you're injured or ill to bathe." The slave's gaze lowered to his lap. "You can't let anyone other than him touch you. If another rapes you, then it's your fault, even if he chooses to punish you by ordering others to do it." He raised his eyes to gaze at Roy again.

"Others? I'm confused. I... how often does that happen? I can't, I won't, I won't let anyone touch me."

"It doesn't happen very often. I guess I shouldn't have mentioned it. I'm just scaring you, aren't I?" The blond took his lower lip between his teeth, staring at Roy, the outer ends of his brows sinking downward in dismay.

"You're older than most new slaves, but I see why he got you. Don't be embarrassed about having marks on your neck from the collar. It happens to a lot with new slaves."

"I see." Roy lifted a hand to finger the marks and remembered having a question for the "Master" when he first arrived. "And while I'm thinking of it, is there a protocol to ask questions for clarification?"

Twenty-One smiled softly then. "Sure. Don't have any."

"No asking questions of the bastard?"

The other slave shushed him gently and lowered his voice. "Be careful. If you're overheard, he's not above maiming or even killing anyone of us, but a few of the brothers love him just the same."  


"Brothers?" Roy sat down on the bed in the room. It'd been a while since he'd slept in one, and at the moment, that was all he wanted. Once he learned what he could, he'd sleep the sleep of the dead. 

"Yeah. We sex slaves are brothers here. We have to be family; we're the only family any of us will ever have. And we take care of each other. Since you're the Master's current favorite, I'll take care of you. You'll need it. I do it often, but others chip in, too. Sometimes it's a group effort."

"You're saying that your brothers would turn one of theirs over to that man to have something cut off?"

Someone rapped sharply at his door, and Twenty-One, since he was closer, opened it. Another slave poked his head in, looking first at Roy, and turning to Twenty-One, he said, "Security is here for him," nodding in his direction.

"Already?" Twenty-One asked, the pitch of his voice a little too high and strangled. Roy stood. He had to be obedient. He couldn't afford an injury that would potentially endanger his ability to escape. And he was used to following orders, so maybe it wouldn't be too terrible.

Twenty-One recovered his poise and left the room, calling for Roy to follow. One of the two large men waited at the entrance to the slave quarters, eyeing the brunet as the slaves moved closer. 

"I have nothing to wear," Roy said quietly, praying he wouldn't have to walk the distance through the house naked.

A security man turned toward him and muttered, "Get used to it." A hand seized Roy by the shoulder, stopping him from walking any further down the hall. The big man used it to spin him around, pulling his arms behind his back. The other man locked his wrists into stocks. Again, a collar slipped over his head, and he nodded to the other slave as he was led out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story began as a kink meme prompt fill but quickly took on a life of its own. It's the longest story I've ever written at >50k and more writing to be done.
> 
> Prompt: Roy is a slave of the Xingese court given to Ed, a Xerxesian prince, during a peace meeting. This can be any rating from T to E. It all depends on how you want to write it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone!
> 
> So, shit gets real in this chapter. 
> 
> Note that the timeline for Xerxes will almost always be the second half of the first twelve or so chapters (there may be an exception or two, but I'll let you know in those chapters' notes). Hope you all enjoy it and please let me know what you think!
> 
> Thanks again to Cissoye for her thoughtful beta reading.

~o0o~

Edward opened the door carefully to keep from disturbing the injured man. "He's in the master bedroom."

"Alright," Mei replied, turning on the lights before entering.

A pale man, naked, slender and fit had been deposited belly-down on the bed. His desiccated lips, sunken eyes and extreme dry skin pointed to dehydration. Mei sat on the edge, pulling her knee up and touched the man's forehead. Edward had been right. The stranger’s fever roiled, practically blistering her skin, most likely causing his unconsciousness.

Lifting the edge of the blanket, she looked to Ed and said, "Let's respect his privacy."

Ed's brow wrinkled as his head dropped in a distracted half-nod, and lifted the blanket on his side, assisting her in pulling it over the man, covering him to the waist. "That should have been the first thing I did," the prince murmured.

Mei offered a gentle smile. “Don’t beat yourself up. You were practically frantic with worry.”

When Ed relented with a sheepish smile, Mei shoved her hands, making a space between the mattress and the man's shoulders and chest, saying, “Ed, help me roll him to his side.”

Ed took his place at the man’s hips, and on a three-count, they rolled him, the prince bending the nameless man’s legs to balance him in position. Mei scooted close to the unconscious man, laying the tips of her fingers against his primary vertebrae, following the dragon's pulse throughout his body to determine what was happening inside. She shifted on the bed to turn toward the prince, eyes fixing on his.

"This is bad. I need you to go back to my suite, get the I.V. pole, a kit, and some fever-reducing powders. Have Al give you a bottle each of metronidazole and cefuroxime. He knows what they are and don’t forget a big bottle of saline. Hurry. Go!"

When Ed fled from the room, Mei upended her bag to scatter its contents on the surface of the bed, working fast to keep the prince from discerning the worst of it -- those injuries would only serve to upset him further. She'd tell him what he needed to know once he settled down.

Working quickly, she placed the board with its alkehestral array next to the man's bottom and dropped her kunai in place, touching it in the middle to activate her alkehestry. An fluorescent blue column of energy shot upward, and Mei breathed an intense sigh of relief as the terrible anal and rectal tears closed. While she was at it, she set her alkehestry circle directly on the other side of his body, activating it a second time to heal him in front as well.

She moved her board and healed the small fracture close to where the thumb had been amputated. Mei turned her attention to the broken ribs, seeing the dense, cross-hatched bruises near them, and wondered what effected such an injury.

She didn't know this man, but even so, her throat tightened. Why would someone work so hard to hurt another? Why would anyone deliberately amputate someone's thumbs? Without automail, he would need to relearn how to do almost everything, and at his age, it was unlikely he would ever fully compensate for their lack. She dabbed at her eyes with the back of her wrist, hoping Edward wouldn't enter at that moment and find her crying.

Pressing her fingertips along the poor man's chi points, Mei grew more disturbed the further she checked. Alkehestrists could only affect a little healing of the psychological trauma inevitable in cases of severe abuse. Despite centuries of study and experimentation by alkehestrists, the complete path to healing the mind still eluded the best of them.

She activated the array next to the man’s head, doing what little she could by healing any organic and/or structural issues of the brain.

Lifting her syringe and several vials from her pocket, Mei quickly read their labels, and chose one, placing the others back where they belonged. Poking the needle into the vial of a potent fever reducer, she filled the syringe with the liquid inside. Thankful she'd thought to bring medications for infection in addition to those most commonly used for wound care, she slid the needle beneath the man's skin and into a vein, depressing the plunger.

Ed was in for a long night. She would return to his suite in a few hours herself, depending on how this person reacted to the medication. She may as well get as much done as possible.

Mei heard the squeaking of her I.V. pole rolling in her direction, and the prince hurriedly entered the room. He held the I.V. bottles, as well as a small container of fever-reducing powders.

"That's great. Thanks, Ed. Please get me a couple of thick towels and a bunch of washcloths. We'll need a big container of ice water, too."

"Right." Ed disappeared, and Mei could hear him rattling around the suite to return a moment later. He placed the water on the floor close to where she sat, transmuting its temperature to just above freezing. Drawing closer to Mei, he asked, "How's it going?"

She gave him a sad smile, answering as she reached out for one of the towels. "I've healed his lacerations and broken bones. That'll help with a little of his pain, although I need to close up the wounds on his hands and back.

Ed nodded, distracted.

Mei hung both the large bottle of saline and the smaller bottle of fever reducer, connecting the two to drip together. Taking the I.V. kit, she ran a tube from the saline bottle, connecting it to the I.V. needle. She found the right vein, and upon sliding it into him. taped it down on his arm as Edward watched.

"Is he going to be okay?" Edward asked, worry lines creasing his forehead.

"Yes. At least, I think so. Let me finish up here, and then we need to talk afterward. I need you to ground yourself and remain calm throughout this." _Edward is a strong person_ , Mei reminded herself.

"Well," she said, folding a large towel, gently lifting his head to pillow it underneath. Reaching for a second, smaller towel, Mei dipped it in the icy water, squeezing it out and tucking it carefully around his face and behind his ears. "We need to keep his brain cool. You'll need to monitor his temperature, and if it rises, come and get me. If that happens, we'll have to dunk him in a cool bath, which I'd rather not have to do. With his fever as high as it is, it'll make him uncomfortable and wake him up when he needs to sleep. The intravenous fever reducer will take around three hours to empty into his system entirely. I've already injected him with fever reducer, and that should help keep the fever down until then. He'll be sick anywhere from three to ten days, assuming there are no complications."

Mei's gaze flickered back and forth between her patient and the prince. "He--. When he wakes, he'll be troubled for a while, maybe even years -- we can’t know.” She paused as the prince’s determined expression cracked, and she glimpsed the pain Edward felt on this man’s behalf before his façade reasserted itself. 

“But it should lessen over time, so don’t be disheartened. He'll be frightened, whatever you do. He'll need your compassion, especially when he's unpleasant. But I guess you know all about that, don’t you, Edward?"

She pointed out the strips of inflamed skin wrapped around his wrists. "As you can see, none of this was caused by accident. He's been tortured; someone had to work hard to hurt him this bad." Mei shook her head in unconscious rejection of the violence his injuries signified. "Seeing the pattern of bruises, on his wrists and his ankles... and just look at his neck. That had to be a collar of some sort, and I've already healed an awful bite mark between his neck and shoulder."

"Oh, it was deliberate, alright." Ed bit off the last word, fisting his hands, nails biting into his palms. "Can you can heal him?"

"Yes." Sighing, Mei's shoulders drooped as she turned dismayed eyes on Edward. "I'd have preferred not to tell you this; both you and your brother's compassion affects you so deeply, but you'll need to know what's been done to him, so you can prepare yourself for when he wakes."

The sleeping man grimaced, sweat soaking his hair and plastering it against his skull. Mei could still hear the rain rattling the bedroom window and saw the man's teeth clench, dark eyes opening, empty of everything other than pain and confusion. She shouted, "Hold him down!" over the man's strangled scream.

The patient spoke in a voice almost too hoarse to understand, much of it unintelligible. "No, I--. Don't! I wo--won't. Please. Don’t hurt me anymore!" Ed held his shoulders down as the man fought, tossing his head, his back strained and arching off the mattress. Then the stranger's body relaxed slowly, collapsing onto the bed.

Ed’s startled eyes flew to Mei, spying the syringe in her hand that could only have been some sort of sedation and she could see the gratitude in every line of his body. She smiled at him.

Edward rolled him back onto his side and stared at him, the desolation on his face squeezing Mei's heart. He looked devastated after hearing those terrified pleas, but the prince had witnessed fear and suffering before without becoming so personally involved. A sneaky part of her wondered whether he would feel as invested in someone who wasn't as attractive as this man.

But that wasn't fair, and Mei had to admit that she'd been equally affected.

“Edward. Why do you feel so passionate about this single man?”

The prince blinked in surprise at her question, wide eyes flying to her face. He shrugged and grinned humorlessly. "I don’t know. Listening to him, hearing how scared he was. It's this kind of pain that compels me to abolish slavery. I'm furious that someone would maim a human being just for the sake of--."

Ed shut his mouth, unwilling to outright accuse the young woman's half-brother in her presence, or tell her exactly for what purpose the “slave” had been trained. "Never mind. As long as he'll be better soon, I'll be okay. I mean, _it'll_ be okay, he’ll be alright," he finished lamely. "Thank you, Mei."

She smiled, her voice softening, "You're welcome, Edward."

Ed didn't reply, gently lifting the man's arm up and away from his side. He thought he saw them before -- large crimson and purple cross-hatched marks heavily stained the pale skin there. He looked sharply at Mei. "How much have you been able to heal?"

Mei lifted her chin. "I can't heal his entire body at once without moving him to the floor and onto an enormous transmutation circle. So far, I've healed the ligature marks around his neck, a few broken ribs, a splinter of bone in his hand, and the open wounds on both." Mei almost never reacted this emotionally to healing a patient; an awful mixture of anger and empathy gripped her now that she knew how he came to be this... this broken.

She lifted Ed's hand and squeezed it gently. "As I was saying, this man was sexually assaulted. His injuries suggest it was a group of men. He has so many small, oval bruises in the hollows of his hips, as if fingers dug into them. I healed his injuries from the rapes, inside and out, but Edward, it... there were so many. I don't know how long it will take, or even if it's possible to heal the emotional damage that sexual assault this severe inevitably causes. Edward, you need to control that temper of yours and be especially gentle with him."

Edward turned bleak, stricken eyes on her patient and stared, the corners of his mouth turned down in a helpless brew of rage and empathy. He swallowed once or twice, struggling to regain his composure.

Finally, Ed nodded. "Of course, I will." He moved through the big room, continuing to talk, "So, he was gang-raped, huh? I guess I shouldn't be surprised." He fisted his hands and pulled one of his elbows back, turning to drive his fist into the wall so forcefully that he broke at least one knuckle. Maybe two.

"You'll need to focus on creating trust between the two of you. It'll be some time before it happens, Ed. Without it, though, he'll be all alone. He's going to need a friend. A good one."

"Yeah." Ed fidgeted, looking in Mei's direction and then glancing away. When he turned back, he asked her, "Did Ling do this to him? Mei, if you know, you've got to tell me." Ed's voice trembled with tension, and as soon as the words slipped beyond his lips, he seemed to decide the question was a stupid one, whispering to himself, "Of course, he did."

Mei knew it'd come to this, and said the only thing she could say. "I don't know. I'm sorry, Ed. I hope not, but I won't ask him; and I don't think you should, either. Ling may not be as straightforward as some people, but I don't believe he's capable of this level of cruelty."

The knuckles Ed had broken by punching the wall caught Mei's attention. She opened her palm, tacitly asking him to let her to heal them. Ed walked back in her direction, placing his hand in hers.

"I wish I could be as sure as you," he said. "Ling's my friend, outside of these politics, but I don't know. I would never have thought he'd give me a slave as a present, knowing how I feel about them. I never thought he could hurt someone this badly." He gestured at the man. "I didn't even know that Xingese law allowed for people to be enslaved. And I can't help but wonder if he had to suffer for _my_ sake."

Mei concentrated on his knuckles, touching his elbow as she placed her hand into the center of her array, triggering another soft blue glow. "Better?" She bit her lip, hoping Ed wouldn’t pursue questioning her further about the Emperor.

"Yeah. Listen, Mei. I have a few questions. Does he have any injuries outside of his back and those bruises? Should I give him the fever medicine now? I don't know how to do that when he's asleep," asked Ed, mournful plaintively.

"My final transmutation will do the trick. I can heal all the skin on his body at once, including those sickening lacerations on his back -- and it’ll be flat instead of being riddled with scar tissue, at least, and the stripes will be red for a few months. But his scars will be there forever. I wish I could do more to help him." Mei performed the final transmutation and began replacing the equipment in her medical bag.

"Don't be stupid. You're saving his life."

Mei smiled gently and rose. "Thanks."

“Just add two packages of the aspirin power into some honey, and mix it. It'll take you a while; you'll probably need to give it to him a little at a time. Try stroking his throat to stimulate his swallowing reflex. I don't know for sure that it will work, but give it a try. Give it to him every four hours, starting as soon as possible. Be sure to elevate his head as you're working. Don't forget that. We don't want him to choke. You'll probably want to put his head in your lap to make it easier."

She smiled, pleased that the prince seemed so taken by the man. Maybe he would lead the prince to spend less time with his scholarly pursuits and start living a little.

"Physically, he should feel better sometime between three to ten days. I'll get you pain relievers to give him for that length of time, and once his fever is gone, stop giving it to him. Finally, you'll need to keep an eye on him to ensure his fever drops by the tenth day. If it rises at all, come get me right away."

Once she packed up, Mei said her goodnights at the door, giving Edward final instructions and telling him what he could expect in terms of immediate behavior. However, she warned, that would depend on the man's personal circumstances.

"Send Ms. Yang to me in the morning, and I'll have his medication and diet ready. Remember, two powders every four hours until his fever breaks. Don't start that for another twelve hours, though. You can give him pain medication every four hours, but only one tablet. Oh, don't forget to change the cold towel on his head every twenty minutes or so, and hot baths will help with any lingering pain. Make sure you help him with everything until he adjusts to not having those thumbs. Are you planning to set him up with automail?"

Ed just nodded.

"That's good." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "He'll be okay."

"Sounds like I'll be busy for the next few days."

"Yes, you will. Can you remember everything I said?"

"The aspirin goes into honey. Make sure he takes all the medication as directed and be gentle with him. Keep his head ice cold and watch his fever."

"Good. Come to me with any problems. If there are any, please don't wait. Otherwise, I'll be back in three hours, alright?"

"I'll talk to you then, Mei. Give Al a hug for me."

Mei smiled at him and left, heading back to her and Al's rooms. She sighed. The prince could be taxing, especially when... well, he was always a pain, but that was forgivable. For now, she couldn't wait to get back to Al and her dinner. He was the kind of guy who finished cooking when she had to be away. What a perfect man he was. A perfect gentleman.

Mei smiled as she closed the door behind her, relieved that the poor man she treated was now in Edward's custody.

~o0o~

They walked throughout the labyrinth. Roy cataloged as much of his surroundings as possible, filing the information for later, to escape. A part of him felt near paralyzed. He only walked because he was led, distractedly trying not to think about what might happen when he reached his destination. He was taken to a room where the Master and a man he took to be a physician, based on the scrubs he wore, stood in the back.

This room reminded him of his doctor's office in Central -- a lot of stainless steel and disposable equipment in glass jars, with cabinets above the counters that ran the length of two of its walls. A medical table stood between them. The doctor glanced in Roy's direction as he moved to one counter, scrubbing his hands with vigor.

The Master moved closer a few minutes afterward and sat down nearby.

The doctor spoke to the Master. "What's this one's designation?"

"It's Forty-Six."

Uncertain whether he should greet the doctor or not, Roy decided on the latter, nodding instead in embarrassed acknowledgment. The Master tolerated that with a slight narrowing of his eyes, saying, "Lay down on the table, Forty-Six."

Uneasily, Roy climbed on and laid back. He'd forgotten about the Security men who followed him in. Each of them grasped a limb, one locking an ankle into a manacle that rose up and out of the surface, the other taking the colonel's wrist in hand, and pulled out a retractable table to lock the wrist into a second manacle. The other ankle was locked down a minute later, as well as the final wrist.

Roy hadn't felt this vulnerable since Ishval, leaving him with an intense sense of dread.

The doctor turned the water off, rubbing his hands with a towel. "Mr. Hidering, the procedure you want me to perform is unnecessary and cruel, and I can't, in good conscience, perform it."

The Master nodded an acknowledgment, clasping his hands behind his back and glaring at the doctor with icy eyes and an intimidating frown. "Did I actually hear you say, 'in good conscience'? Since when has your conscience been an issue for you?"

The doctor dropped his gaze to the table, face reddening slightly. "I won't lie and say I haven't done questionable things in your service, but I have to draw a line somewhere. Lifting his head and crossing his arms, he faced Hidering.

The Master changed tactics, smiling lecherously. "You have a lovely daughter, doctor. I'm quite taken by her." The smile he directed at the doctor grew slowly, never reaching his eyes.

The other man's mouth dropped open, face reddening. "You must understand that taking this all the way down to the trapezium is not necessary to achieve what you want and may not achieve what you want. I reiterate; the best and easiest way to handle the issue is equipment."

The Master shrugged elaborately. "I think I'll ask her to dinner. Does she appreciate flowers, or would she prefer jewelry?"

The older man's eyes and shoulders sagged in defeat. "That won't be necessary, Mr. Hidering." He lifted his eyes to the older man. "I'll need some help."

Roy's heart banged against his chest as he tried to free his arms, growing more frantic by the minute. A thrill of terror shot up through him.

"And I want it done without anesthesia."

The doctor paled, raising his voice in an impassioned shout. "You've got to be kidding!"

"It'll be fine, doctor. I'll pay you extra to keep him under observation, in case he goes into shock."

Roy steadily jerked harder at his arm, knowing it was a hopeless endeavor. "What are you doing? Please! I'm sorry I didn't obey you right away. I won't disobey you again; you have my word."

They treated him like so much background noise, neither acknowledging that he spoke.

The doctor sighed. "Observation is absolutely essential because he will go into shock, damn it. You know it's a life-threatening condition."

"Which is why I expect you to keep a close eye on him and ensure he survives."

The doctor stood his ground for another minute before turning away. "Excuse me, I've got to go heat up the cauterizing iron."

He left, disappearing into another room. Roy stopped struggling, staring at a jar on the counter across from him, shunning the gazes of the men standing around him. His heart pounded fiercely against his ribs, his breathing escalating. He still had no idea what they were planning to do to him, knowing only that it would be painful. No anesthesia. That was what the monster said and judging by the doctor's reaction... He tugged his bottom lip up between his teeth, tilting his head up and to the side to watch the door where the doctor had exited.

A full five minutes later, the doctor returned, armed with a cauterizing iron-tipped in glowing neon orange, and Roy saw waves from the heat wavering above it. 

"Don't let him move a millimeter, or the brand will be ruined, and you know your employer will be furious." The Master wrapped his enormous hands around the top of Roy's thighs, immobilizing him to the point that he couldn't move, while the other man trapped his shoulders, keeping his torso flat on the table. Roy was well-trapped, shocked, and embarrassed by how the Master chose to restrain him, too close to his crotch.

The scorching, red tip of the cautery iron disappeared behind the Security man restraining his torso and blocked his view of what the doctor was doing. In the hollow of his hip, Roy felt the scorch of the iron searing his flesh, and he twisted, writhing in his shackles. The reek of it, as familiar as it was, again burnt itself into his psyche. The doctor lifted it occasionally, going back to work as Roy smelled his flesh roasting again, clenching his teeth through the blistering ruination of his skin.

When the doctor finished, he said, "Good work, men. It's perfect."

The Master stood and looked at the man's handiwork. He smiled. "Excellent work, Doctor."

Roy sighed with relief. He had expected to be branded and had felt worse pain by his own hand. But the doctor patted Roy's shoulder again as if trying to comfort him, giving a significant look to the men who brought him here.

"Go ahead; I'm ready." One of them moved to stand by the doctor, taking Roy's hand in his own, pulling his fingers straight, only to curl them into a fist. He pried his thumb off and away from the rest of his fingers, holding it far above them.

The doctor put away the cauterizing iron, and when he returned, he cupped his hand over the top of Roy's head, looking him in the eye. "I'm going to make this as quick as I can," he said, his voice tender and poignant with sympathy.

"What are you doing?" Roy asked loudly, the words strangled and tinged with desperation.

The doctor ignored his question, blocking his view of the tools he used, and Roy felt something cold swab the base of his thumb and palm. He didn't see the scalpel until it was already happening: the doctor slicing deep into the web between Roy's index finger and thumb, gliding effortlessly through Roy's flesh. Changing the scalpel's angle, the doctor used it to slice around the base of the digit, through skin, muscles, and tendons, the scalpel buried so deep it had to have hit bone. Blood steadily soaked the doctor's surgical gown and poured onto the table. Shocking pain burst in his hand and grew, bright, silver, and everywhere, shooting up through his shoulder. His eyes widened as his lips peeled open, baring his teeth, a mangled scream erupting involuntarily from his throat.

It echoed throughout the room.

He could see the doctor's scalpel now, slicing low around the base of his thumb and sinking deep into his palm. Only then did Roy realize, gasping in a long, raw breath, that they were amputating his thumb.

A thrill of terror shot through him, wrapping its tendrils around his heart, making it beat ferociously. He couldn't stop the screams, which escalated quickly into hysteria.

A pair of strong hands gripped Roy's head between them, wrenching his neck as they forced his head to turn, pressing the side of his face against the stainless steel table, using more pressure than he could resist. Facing the direction opposite of what he needed to see, Roy distantly recognized that the Master studied him intently as he struggled to turn his head back, black eyes rolling up as far to the side as he could in an instinctive need to see what was happening.

The doctor must be sawing through bone, the pain altering in nature into something harsher and caustic -- excruciating. Roy had never been exposed to agony of this caliber, never dreaming it existed outside of burning to death. Shrieks erupted from his throat, high-pitched and involuntary, in a register he hadn't known his deep voice reached. Roy jerked his trapped arm, violent in his terrorized and desperate attempt to save his hand.

The pain of it altered in nature into something indescribably harsher, caustic, and excruciating, and Roy realized the doctor must be sawing through the bone.

Roy gagged. His stomach was too empty to vomit, his nausea thickening, and saliva filled his mouth. He spat it out, gagging, retching thin, acidic bile, which ran down the side of his face and neck onto the table. He spat out extra saliva as the suffering consumed what was left of his consciousness.

"Damn it. He's already in shock. I'll need to address that before working on the other hand," the doctor said.

Hidering turned, speaking over his shoulder and exiting without looking back. “That’s what I pay you for. Make damn sure he survives.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, guys. I guess my original monthly update estimate wasn't to be. And it'll likely get worse as I'm planning to join a roleplay community, but we'll see. Thanks for all the comments and kudos, they keep me engaged with this story.

Exhaustion weighed every muscle of Edward’s body down, and after spending the entire night awake worrying about and tending to his patient, his mind was equally affected. The night’s many panicked moments stretched his mind beyond its limit, resulting in his feeling like a mindless zombie that fathers told their children about to get them to behave.

Having taken care of his new charge’s needs for the next few hours, he needed sleep, but had to settle for a strong cup of coffee. Without it, his thoughts moved through his head with all the agility of a snail in quicksand. Everything around him appeared a little distant, glassy, and strangely unreal. He’d spent the night worrying about the man in his care, dutifully stirring the aspirin into honey, placing the cup on the table beside him when he crawled into the bed and pulled the brunet’s head into his lap. 

Getting the man to take the honey was, each time he did it, a lesson in controlling his frustration. It was no easy thing to convince an unconscious person to swallow. Over and over, Ed refilled the water container, dipping hand towels and squeezing them out to place on his patient’s forehead. It’d be a tragedy if this person endured those horrific injuries just to end up having his brain fried by the frighteningly high fever wracking his body. The prince was determined to prevent that from happening. 

Through the night, Ed repeatedly transmuted the water’s temperature to just above freezing, using one towel for covering his forehead, the second to cool and clean his face and neck. Eventually, Ed retrieved a third towel, using it to squeeze dribbles of water between the man’s lips. He never coughed or choked on it, so the man obviously drank that, too. He must have been desperately thirsty to want the water on top of the bottles of saline dripped into his body.

It gave the prince time to study the alchemist’s features. He guessed the man’s age to be somewhere between twenty to thirty years. Oh, and he was just... so painfully attractive. Ed needed to be vigilant, and remind himself that his duty was to keep this man healthy. He had no business touching that pale, flawless skin, no matter how much his fingers ached to feel it.

Ed peered down, moving closer and squinting his eyes against the morning sun to properly view him. He slept still, expression unmarred by pain, improving the blond’s already eager mood. Alright, it was true that some part of him was reconfirming that yes, his looks were eerily exact in terms of his taste and somehow, Ling not only knew it; he’d gone out of his way to find this man and actually gave him away as a gift. Had he been able to ignore his own ethics, he could have kept him as a concubine, but that would just have been another form of slavery. 

For the first time since he’d become an adult, Edward wished his ethics were more malleable. But they weren’t, and never could be. He intended to be the best King of Xerxes in history, not for the sake of vanity, but for his people. He and Ling had that in common, or so Ed had thought. But that wasn’t important at this particular moment and he’d speak to Ling extensively on the matter later. Their peace agreement took priority.

After his morning shower, he wrapped himself in a robe, and padded into the living room, entering the foyer to open the front door, where Jian Yang stood at guard. “Good morning, Ms. Yang. Listen, don’t worry about starting the fire. I’ve already done it. Mei Chang promised to draw up a menu for him,” Ed cocked his head quickly to let her know he was referring to the patient, continuing, “and it seems unfair to make him follow one menu while I eat other foods. Would you send for two servings of her menu for as long as he needs it. He may not awaken today -- I’ll let you know when he does. For now, I’ll wait for breakfast. But I’ll need strong coffee right away.”

She smiled at him as if to say ‘of course’. 

Ed continued. “If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate your going to Mei’s place for a couple of things. You know where her suite is, right?” 

Ms. Yang gave him a clipped nod as the prince glanced behind him to ensure his guest hadn’t dragged his way out of the bedroom. 

“Good. She’ll have medicine for him. If you could bring those with coffee, I’d be very grateful.”

“Of course, Mr. Ed. I’ll be back with coffee first, and then bring his medicine.”

“Wait. Ms. Yang, would you please shop for me this afternoon? He’ll need formal pieces in the event we’re invited by the Emperor to a diplomatic function... dinner or something. And he needs comfortable clothes made of silk and other soft fabrics since he’ll be convalescing for a time. I think we should get him a lot of pajamas for resting -- at least seven pair, and other comfortable pieces for daily wear.” He bowed to her, turning to close the door when he felt Ms. Yang’s hand touch his shoulder, stopping him from taking off. 

“Mr. Ed, I recommend you wait before purchasing clothing for your friend. The Emperor has already taken care of this, and all the beautiful things he’s having made for him will arrive in a few weeks. You must understand how offended he would be should you choose to dress him in anything other than what he chose for him, at least while you’re here.” 

“Thanks for letting me know. Think you can you get your hands on at least a few pairs of pajamas, so he won’t have to wear my clothes? And a few pieces of casual wear? He’s too tall for mine to fit him right. And underwear. Plenty of underwear. I’d be grateful.”

Throughout his stay, Ms. Yang had been of enormous assistance to Ed, as she proved herself an expert in acclimating visitors to Xingese Court etiquette. Yang provided a lot of insight to the workings of court and how his eccentric friend Ling should be treated as Emperor. He wondered again when they’d get down to the business of their alliance. 

Ms. Yang bowed slightly, a smile on her face. “Of course, Mr. Ed. It would be rude to allow your guest to remain unclothed for so long.”

Strangely put, but that was true enough. Well, for now, he’d continue preparing for him. His guest.

Ed bowed. “Thank you so much, Ms. Yang.” 

~o0o~

He refused to eat.

Why bother? For the foreseeable future, he’d be a sex slave. Lacking opposing thumbs, there wasn’t a way for him to escape. There wasn’t even a way he could shave himself, much less escape a place as secure as this was. He guessed he could draw a transmutation circle with his teeth, but that was hardly practical on the run. No. It would be impossible.

The only alternative to leaving would be staying, subject to rape and the kind of torture he’d just experienced. He’d rather die than have this be his life. And this Hidering character obviously took great delight in witnessing his pain and, he was sure, that of the rest of these men.

Twenty-One took it all in stride. Since he returned, the other man sat in vigil next to his bed. Somehow, he’d gotten his hands on some pain pills, and helped him take a few. They helped blunt the pain somewhat as well as his mood. Roy fell asleep soon afterward, sleeping through the night.

The next day, Twenty-One gave him more pain pills, and gave him a sponge bath, which Roy tried to decline. The other slave refused to be deterred, saying, “It’s one of his rules -- you have to keep yourself clean, and you can’t do it yourself right now. I know you don’t want to be punished again.” 

So Roy relented.

Afterward, Twenty-One told Roy he had to eat or the Master would force-feed him, to which Roy chuckled bitterly. “I guess I could shove my face in a bowl and lick up my food.”

The other slave turned troubled eyes on him. Roy tried smiling back, but his lower lip quivered, and embarrassed, he stopped. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate his kindnesses, but the pity on the other slave’s face only made him feel that much more pathetic, and worse, he was losing control of the persona he projected. 

“I can’t imagine the pain you’re going through. I know that the hands have more nerve endings in them than most other places. Were you branded?”

“I was.” It was hard for Roy to follow the conversation. “And here I thought all I had to look forward to was being raped.” 

Roy gave the other slave a distracted smile, and realized he hadn’t thought through the horrors that could be perpetrated on them –- he’d lacked the imagination to anticipate the scale of Hidering’s cruelty, and resentfully, he acknowledged how much he’d underestimated the man who owned him.

Although it was highly possible that Envy told the man he was an alchemist, and a powerful one.

“Yeah? Who knows? Maybe one day we’ll all get the opportunity to return the favor.” Twenty-One flashed a crooked smile.

Roy couldn’t help but return it. Not just at the thought of branding the bastard, but the fact that Twenty-One still had a sense of humor in a place like this. “Did you have a name before you came here, and how did you get stuck here?”

Twenty-One’s features softened. He sat at the end of Roy’s bed, his back against the wall, and pulled his leg up close to his body, wrapping an arm around his knee. “I haven’t thought about any of that for a long time, and you’re the first person to ask. Let me think. As a kid, my name was also a number, but it changed yearly as I grew older, so it was One, Two, and so on. My mother was a slave and she was bred to an attractive male. She was a kind person who always saw the best in people, even her Master. The slaves I lived with educated me as well as they could, but as slaves, they weren’t taught much. They keep us as ignorant as they can. It wasn’t such a bad life until I turned fourteen, and then I was sold at an auction.”

“An auction, huh? That must have been confusing and frightening, especially to a young boy. I’m sorry. Do you ever get to see your mother?” 

“That would be wonderful, but no. It isn’t allowed.”

“No one that young should have to experience that. No one should have to go through this at all.” Roy saw then that as horrifying as Ishval had been, even with the terrible burden of guilt he carried, he had lived free for almost thirty years. This man hadn’t lived so much as a single day free. “Did he... touch you when you were that young?”

Twenty-One got up, pulling the small chair found in every bedroom around to face the other man. “Of course. Every one of us were bought when we were young, some much younger than I was.” He turned back to Roy. “Except you. I’d hoped he only brought you here to be bred, but now I doubt it. He wants you. I’m sorry, there’s no way I can protect you.”

God, that monster fucked children, hurt them; he even killed them. And Roy saw the pain in Twenty-One’s face he caused by bringing it up. He smiled at the other man, hoping to alleviate a small amount of it. “Why don’t I give you a real name? Just between us.”

The other slave’s lips quickly turned up into a big smile, his eyes brightening. “That’d be great. Just between us?”

“Of course. How does Ami sound to you?”

“Ami? I like it. Do you have a name? And what were you doing at fourteen-years-old? How did you live so long being free without being caught?”

“I’m Roy Mustang, and I also hadn’t thought of that in a while. At that age, my alchemy was at an intermediate level, and I was studying with Master Hawkeye, by which I mean he was an alchemic master and my teacher, not a master like you have here. 

“When I was seventeen, I became the youngest person in Amestrian history to become a State Alchemist, and held the rank of Major. I was a colonel before...” Roy gestured vaguely around the room. “...all this.”

“That’s amazing, Roy. It is, isn’t it?”

Roy chuckled, if only because Ami was so honest, and a touch naïve about the world outside, but that was hardly surprising. “It’s unusual, yes.”

“But... how did you come to be a slave in Xerxes?”

Roy dropped his gaze to his lap. “I don’t know. A homunculus tricked me into coming to Xerxes with him and sold me to the Master. I assume it was the military.”

“Sorry. What’s a homunculus?” 

“Don’t be.” Roy lifted his hands, irrationally ashamed of his disfigurement. “A homunculus is an artificial human.” The alchemist studied his damaged hands, and remarked, “I’d hoped to escape, but without my thumbs...”

Ami leaned forward, touching Roy on the leg in sympathy. “That would never have happened. You’re an alchemist, and he wanted to hobble you -- that’s why he did it. You’re too beautiful and exotic for him to have risked your escaping.” 

Roy shuddered, and shook it off. “Do you know if anyone has ever escaped?”

“Once, I think, before I came here. I heard that’s the reason for all the halls and stairs and locked doors. That’s why there aren’t any windows.” 

Roy had to concede the steps the Master had taken to ensure none could escape had been smart. But... “When was the last time you were outside?”

Ami just smiled. “I told you. When I was fourteen.” He stood. “I’ll be right back with something for you to eat. Believe me, the last thing you want is to have him feed you. It’s creepy when he watches you eat.”

Roy nodded in agreement. Fourteen years not even glimpsing the outside world. Poor Ami, he didn’t even realize the extent of his slavery. Or perhaps he did, and simply chose to accept it -- a thing Roy could never do.

He tried to wrap his mind around the idea of being bred, but refused to bring a child into the world who would only be sold as a slave or worse, kept by the fiend who owned him. He sighed. Had he resigned himself to being a slave so easily? He remembered the avid expression on the man’s face when the doctor... He wondered if the Master had gone back to his room and jerked off afterward. The idea sickened him, but he wouldn’t have been surprised. 

Outside of his room, he heard a voice ask, “Is the little brother depressed?”

Ami shushed him and whispered, “Of course he is, wouldn’t you be?” His voice trailed off as he moved away from the door.

Roy felt like a child when tears, unbidden, flooded his eyes, spilling over to bleed down his cheeks. His hands burned and pulsed, throbbing savagely, but he refused to be caught crying by anyone. Gritting his teeth, he brought an arm upward, causing that much more pain. Sweat dampened the hair at his temples as his hand pounded, arm trembling. A few soft grunts and gasps escaped his lips as he wiped his eyes and lowered his arm to slip under the blanket. 

Ami returned with a bowl of scrambled eggs and potatoes, scooting his chair close to the bed. Poking the fork around in the bowl, he lifted a good-sized bite to Roy’s mouth. Roy took it, his cheeks heating a little as he chewed and swallowed. “You know he’s a sick man, right?”

“Yeah.” Ami’s words were whispered, not as much because he feared being overheard, Roy guessed, but because facing terrible truths was hard and frightening. “I wish he hadn’t done that to you. And you’re right. He’s getting worse.“

Roy accepted another bite.

“Do you want to know how Thirty-Nine died? I only heard how it happened, but I know it’s true. He was with the Master in his “playroom”. Apparently, there was a knife lying there with the fruit and cheese, and Thirty-Nine picked it up. He shoved it straight into his eye. Died pretty quick, from what I heard. The Master no longer allows knives to be kept in the same room as any slave.”

Roy swallowed. “But, didn’t you say he was tortured to death?” 

A soft smile graced Ami’s face, and he said, “Wasn’t he?”

And Mustang had thought him naïve


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You don't know how much I appreciated the comments and kudos from the last chapter. I thought it best to release this one early. It was easy to edit, and I've got many new things on my plate, including applying to a multi-fandom RP game and working with Cissoye on a new writing project. It may take a while to get back to this. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this chapter~

~o0o~

Roy woke up, blinking the sleep from his eyes and confused. He was staring at the canopy of a sumptuously comfortable bed with sheer and screening curtains. How odd. Maes hadn't mentioned buying it, leaving Mustang mildly surprised that he hadn't seen a picture of Elysia on it yet. 

Damn. Roy usually wasn't this groggy in the morning and looked forward to having coffee and sharing the paper with his friend. 

Wait.

Maes Hughes was dead some four months now.

Where was he? This bedroom couldn't be in the home of his Master, could it? His recent memory was fuzzy, but he remembered the horror of the labyrinth vividly, and this wasn't it. Had he been sold again? He wouldn't know until he spoke to someone, preferably another slave, as he was justifiably wary of Masters.

He looked at his hands, shocked and depressed by the savagery of their mutilation, sickened that he would forever be disfigured through no fault of his own. Had the military put his Master up to this? He might be driven insane by the sheer number of questions he had.

Fearfully looking in every direction, he draped the blanket on the bed around his hips. It made him feel less vulnerable than being completely naked. He wrapped protective arms around his vulnerable belly, rapid-fire eyes darting throughout the room. He sighed heavily when his assessment revealed no enemies. Just fearful anticipation tightening his stomach as the speed of his thoughts rocketed. Roy didn't know when or where he was or even where here was. If there were others here, he wondered what would be expected of him and if he'd have a choice in it at all. 

He wanted to hide, he wanted to, but the sad fact was that his terror of the unknown, of being punished for nothing, was too severe for him to move. He couldn't seem to overcome his horrible paralysis.

Wait. Something else was different, too. Mustang's brow knit, fingers fisting in the bedclothes unconsciously as he tried to think. Roy couldn't put his finger on the answer to a question he had barely conceived. What was it? Straightening in the bed, disquieted by whatever it was, what it might be or mean -- the something-not-quite-right-feeling grew more and more pronounced.

The tiniest of smiles stole its way to his face, hands relaxing as he realized what felt so different. The volume of the pain he'd endured for too long had been turned down like music on the radio. Now, he felt a little pain in his back, but hardly the intense pain he'd come to expect and accept.

He looked at his mutilated hands. The place where the thumbs once met his palms had healed completely, and without the swelling, he could see exactly how much of the palm had been removed. He tentatively touched the area on his left hand with his right. No pain whatsoever. His head no longer pounded, pain no longer defined his hands and neck and head, his ass felt whole again, and his back, amazingly, felt as though nothing at all had happened. 

The room around him was a lovely place, with walls of stone and floors of marble and large, ornate rugs in muted colors covering most of the floor. Long, intricate tapestries lined the walls. He couldn't help but notice the arcing entrance to the room, its frame a subtle lavender sprinkled with golden patterns, the black, double doors open. Sunlight streamed in from the room beyond, and despite the crackling sound of a fire in the next room, icy terror froze him where he sat; he was too scared to leave and explore the rest of the place, despite how much he longed to get out of bed.

How had he been reduced to this?

Thoughts and questions whirled faster and faster, spinning meteorically through his head. Where was he? Why would the bastard heal him like this unless he planned to hurt him all over again? Why had he moved him? And had he slept for the last six to eight weeks while his hands and his back healed? Why had he been separated from Ami and the rest of the "brothers"? Where was Hidering? Was he planning more torture? Why was he here? 

Nothing about this made sense.

He remembered too little regarding recent events, as though he'd slept for a month: a haze of sand, the howling of wind and billowing blankets snapping in the air, thirst and the ubiquitous, harrowing pain following him throughout, unprotected from scorching heat and nights of ice. No names or faces seemed to be attached to those peculiar, dusty memories, and here he was now, alone and terrified.

But Roy had survived Ishval. He survived the traitors of his own country after being discovered investigating the death of Maes Hughes. He remembered thinking through the history of the Fuhrer and his wars; his intuition had him tracing the cities of conflict into an alchemic circle -- a human transmutation circle that the country had likely been made for. Maybe leaving him alive had been deliberate; perhaps they'd chosen to break him as an alchemist and a Military officer. If that were true, he longed to make sure they paid. But that was a distant dream now, cut off along with his thumbs.

Right now, he couldn't take on anyone. He swallowed, tasting uselessness and failure. With these hands, being a sex slave was all he was suitable for.

~o0o~

Edward made his entrance with a towel wrapped around his head, the second round his hips. He turned to view himself in the mirror, drying and then braiding his hair. Ed raised his arms to stretch his back, and his eyes shot open at the thunderous crack of his spine. Then, bending an arm, he flexed his muscles. Pleased with the result, he rotated his fist outward and flexed again. Even better. He dropped it, pleased and satisfied with his reflection. Something caught his eye, and Ed did a double-take. 

His mystery man had already awakened. A relieved Ed offered Roy a dazzling smile, confident as he took in the stranger's appearance. His color was better, and he was conscious, a dramatic improvement from the night before. 

Oh, no. Had the stranger seen him, been watching as he made muscles at himself? 

He gave raised his hand, sort of wiggling his fingers at the man awkwardly. "Hi, I'm Edward. How are you feeling this morning?"

The man held himself unnervingly still, eyes too wide, grey rings shadowing them, both above and below. He didn't move, utterly frozen. His arms wrapped around his legs, thighs pressing against his chest, and Ed knew the reason behind such a tiny, huddled position. 

The man was absolutely petrified.

Still, he slid off the bed, seemingly unconcerned about his state of undress, moving down onto his knees. He knelt with his knees far apart, sitting back on his heels, hands out of the way so that Edward could see everything. He kept his eyes glued to the floor in front of him, saying in a voice dulled by illness and abuse. 

"I'm fine, Master." The man's cringe was almost imperceptible. "I apologize for being so slow to kneel."

Ed's jaw dropped, eyes widening before he clamped them shut, his face burning. "Um, you don't have to do that. At all. Not ever." Ed peeked and saw that the nameless man didn't so much as flex a muscle. Directing his eyes elsewhere, he said, "Hey, want some breakfast? We're having a dish made especially for you. Actually, it's one of many that my brother's doctor girlfriend prescribed for you. A diet for people who haven't eaten much recently. She said it wouldn't be long before you can eat normally again. Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

The man never moved so much as a millimeter and just looked at Ed, who had no idea how to engage the man. He decided to try talking some more and fill the awkward silence. "After breakfast, you can take a shower or a bath. The facilities here are incredible. You'll like them... Oh, I almost forgot!"

He bent to go through his drawers, sure he had a few clothing items that would fit the brunet. He went through them like a tornado, piling folded clothing right and left before stumbling on what he thought might do and grabbing a pair of drawers. Ed tried to hand them to him, thinking better of it when he remembered his poor hands. He went diving for a shirt as well and finally came up for air, noticing that the other hadn't even twitched. "We need to get you some clothes." 

Placing the clothing on the dresser, he patted the pile and said, "I've sent the servant to pick up your medicine. You have an infection that needs both antibiotics and a little something for the pain. If you want to come and check out the living area, give me a shout, and I'll help you get ready." Ed didn't close the door, leaving it ajar a good foot behind him.

After waiting a moment, the man still hadn't moved, and although he didn't want to believe it, it could be that the former slave had been trained in that awful, old-fashioned way which today, only the cruelest of masters used. That had to be the reason behind the man's silence, undoubtedly the reason behind that painful, lewd position in which the slave knelt. The least he could do was get him some water -- according to Mei, he was dehydrated.

He went to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door to pull out the fruited drinking water that Ms. Yang brought by daily. He poured a glass-half-full and returned to the bedroom. Scooting his chair to be closer to the stranger, he offered him the glass. "Drink! I can't let you become more dehydrated than you already are." 

"Thank you, Master," the man said, reacting to Ed's voice and reaching with both hands to take the glass. That's right. Lacking thumbs, the former slave had no other way to hold it. He raised the glass to his lips, looking carefully at the man's feet.

~o0o~

He said his name was Edward, and he looked like a younger, shorter version of Hidering, so much like him that he could only be his son. Had he been given to him or lent out? Trying not to make any assumptions warred shortly with his extreme thirst. If this person was who he thought he was, and anything like his father, then there was nothing Roy could do to stop the man from hurting him. Still, it was best to be extremely careful and not do anything that might make the man snap.

"Please don't call me that. I'm Edward." He filled his mouth with the delicious water, the man calling himself Edward, said, "Wait! Drink it slowly. You'll feel terrible if you drink it too fast and throw it back up. You'll have to wait for your stomach to settle before you drink more."

"Thank you, Ma-- Edward, I will."

Could he really be a decent person with a father like that, Roy thought, but best not to make assumptions where Masters were concerned -- last time he'd done that, he found himself being raped with... 

No. Roy couldn't think about that. 

"Listen, don't call me Master. You're not a slave anymore. You're my guest, and I'm happy you're here." 

Roy nodded once, tipping the glass enough to get a mouthful and swallowed, eyes glued to the Ed person. He held the glass above his lap, still making no attempt to conceal himself, and waited for permission to speak or drink.

The Edward person seemed to be waiting, too, but Roy learned the lessons of Xerxes well: defying one's Master resulted in unspeakable consequences. He chanced a glance at the glass of water in his hands before returning his eyes to the Master's son. Edward's lips quirked into a small smile. "Don't you want anymore?"

"Yes, Sir." Roy took that as permission and had another sip, returning to staring at the man and waiting.

"Please call me Edward. What's your name?"

"Forty-Six, Edward. Would it be okay if I drank a little faster?" That time, he dared to slip in a question, heightening the anxiety already churning in his gut.

"Forty-Six, you were enslaved recently, right? I'd like to know the name you were born with. I was sincere when I said that you aren't a slave anymore. If your stomach is okay with the water, I say drink it, but it's up to you. And anything you're doing that your former Master told you to do, you don't have to do that, either. Especially that kneeling, it's making me uncomfortable."

Roy had the glass to his lips instantly and froze for a second before putting it down, swallowing to answer the other man. "It's Roy. Roy Mustang, Edward." Keeping an eye on Ed, he lifted the glass and drank it down in its entirety. It tasted like heaven.

Edward let his head drop back and took a deep breath. He raised his head and smiled, looking back at Roy to say, "Good to meet you, Roy. I'll get you some more." He reached for the glass in Roy's hands, taking it, "Breakfast should arrive any minute." He walked to the dresser, where he'd left a pile of clothing he thought might fit the other man, patting it and saying, "Why don't you try these on and see if any fit? I'll be right back. Let me know if you need any help."

Roy nodded, saying, "Alright, Edward," suspicious eyes darting from his face, to his hands, and to his feet and back to ensure that he wasn't caught by surprise should he be. 

When Edward left the room, Roy breathed, walking to the pile of clothing, using both hands' fingers to lift each article from the stack. He began with a pair of boxers. Lowering them to his knees, he stepped in with one foot and then the other, curling his fingers in the waistband material to pull them up and on. There. He did it. The tiniest of smiles crept onto his face.

He did the same with a pair of trousers, but the button and zipper weren't possible. Next, he tried the sweater, baggy and comfortable, and managed to pull it on. Socks had been included, but already, Roy was tiring. 

~o0o~

Two days after the amputations, Roy, still in considerable pain, was told by Ami he had to take a shower. "I don't like this. I know it hasn't been long enough for you to have healed," he said after telling Roy that he'd been called for by the Master. Roy just couldn't. Even knowing it was futile, he asked Ami to tell them that he was still in too much pain, and that was hardly a lie, but there was nothing he could do. He took him to the large community showers that reminded Roy intensely of his days at the Academy.

There was nothing to be done outside of Ami making him take extra narcotic pain-relievers before leaving. They were more robust than what he'd been taking, and he felt a bit dizzy afterward.

The faucet handles controlling the water in the shower were round, making it impossible for Roy to turn on himself. He sighed heavily, sure he would be useless for the rest of his life. Maybe, Roy thought, maybe there was a way to ensure that his life was short. After all, he had no future. 

After having had one for so long, he couldn't face the time in front of him with nothing to live for other than not dying.

Ami proved himself a sweet and strangely loving person. They called themselves brothers, all thirty-eight of them, and he was that to Roy. Ami helped him wash his hair and left when Roy asked for privacy to figure out how to use his hands to manipulate the soap. Roy took his time to clean himself, staying beneath the spray for as long as he could. Finally, when his fingers wrinkled up, he left the shower, struggling to wrap the towel around his hips. 

Once Roy was clean, Ami brushed his hair. As he was shaved by one of the Security men, Roy wondered if he'd ever be able to manage it himself again and then put it out of his mind because outside the fact that they'd never put a blade in his hands, he had no plans to stick around long enough for that to be an issue. Once his hands were redressed, there was no putting it off any longer, and Roy was taken to the door where Security waited.

He was restrained, collared, and led through the labyrinth, taking a different route this time. Before, he'd have been embarrassed by walking anywhere outside his own room naked, but having your thumbs removed put little things like that into perspective. One of the men gently pushed him into an enormous room with wooden walls, a high ceiling, and an inlaid stone floor. There were items in the room, things Roy wanted nothing to do with: chains on the walls and hanging from the ceiling. If Roy hadn't already known what a sadist the Master was, the restraints, a wicked-looking bullwhip, a cat-o'-nine-tails, and an enormous electricity generator with two open-wired cables would have clued him in. 

The Master lay in a bed, already naked and propped up on an elbow, smiling at him. "Hello, Forty-Six. Come here." He patted the mattress next to him. 

Could he goad the man into killing him quickly? He could try; he had to try. He crossed the room with no expression on his face, and when he was close enough to Hidering, he tackled him, their bodies rolling. He ended up on top, sitting on the man's chest. Enraged, Roy aimed his fingers at the Master's eyes, trying to gouge them out. The man barely avoided his fingers; Roy feeling them miss to hit a pillow nearby but tried a second time before the man caught his wrists. He struggled, twisting enough to slip out of the other man's grasp as he backed away. 

"Aren't I a little old for you?" Roy asked.

He would have laughed at the man's expression if he'd had the time. Surprised by how quickly the much bigger man moved, Roy back-pedaled as the big man stalked him. Hidering snatched his wrist and clutched what was left of his hand, squeezing it hard before shoving him onto the bed. Roy clenched his teeth against the pain, regaining his feet, and jumping off and away.

"You're aware that I'm twenty-nine, not fourteen, right?"

The other man actually smiled, then. "But you look like you're eighteen, and if you weren't my property, I'd bet money that you'd continue to look exactly the same for the next eight or so years. Remember -- I told you I thought you were a bargain." 

He couldn't help but feel profoundly unsettled by Hidering's words. It sounded too much like a threat, as though he intended to continue this cycle of torture and rape for the mentioned number of years. As a threat, it worked too well, but suddenly, Roy was off his game.

"I'd rather fuck my own grandfather," Roy said, hoping it would piss him off enough to motivate the other man to really hurt him, hopefully sufficient to bash his brains out on the floor. 

But it didn't. Instead of throttling Mustang, the man took three enormous steps and buried his fist in his gut, making Roy double over while Hidering clasped his hands together into a big fist, slamming it into his back. It dropped Mustang instantly, and he shouted when he landed on the stone, hands, and knees first, collapsing onto his elbows. The asshole was already on him, using his knees to part Roy's thighs so quickly, he hadn't the chance to either move away or fight him. But he had been trained in hand-to-hand combat by the military, his lack of thumbs shouldn't be relevant in a fight like this. He drove his elbow back and smiled when he felt the joint crack the other man in the eye.

The blond man howled, both hands clapping his face and pressing against it, and as he reared up on his knees, Roy scrambled out from underneath him. He was going to have to use his fists, or what was left of them, if he wanted to piss him off enough to end his life, and at this point, that was looking like a long shot. 

The big man stood, slowly smiling at Roy, "Do you enjoy pain, Forty-Six? I hope you do because I can dish it out in spades. And I'll enjoy every second of it."

So be it, even if he had to do this a couple of times, the man couldn't hold off his temper forever. Guys like him never could.

Keeping his fists up, Roy watched as Hidering rose to his feet, turning to face him. He was entirely too calm for his liking. The bastard smiled and brought his fists up, holding them in front of his face and taking up a boxing stance.

Well, shit.

But Roy was good; he still had confidence he could make this man hurt, if not win against him. It didn't really matter; the point was to enrage the man. 

They circled one another, each careful with their footwork, and Roy danced into his space far enough to take a swing at him. The blow was easily blocked, the pain of it making him stagger. He kept his focus despite it. Hidering swung, not at his face or head, but directly at one of his hands. It was a hard hit, and Roy shouted miserably, backing away and trying to keep space between them for just a minute or two when the Master clocked him across the cheekbone, and for a second, the room lurched, spinning alarmingly around him. Roy barely kept his feet after the next hit. Then, the large man grabbed his hand, digging his own thumb into the wound where once Roy's had been. His cry of pain rang throughout the room, and he stumbled, the other man twisting his thumb to dig in deeper. Roy almost asked for mercy then but knew none would be forthcoming.

"Lay down so I can fuck you, you little shit. I enjoy foreplay and whatnot, but enough is enough." 

Was this man serious? If he allowed that, he'd be complicit in his own rape.

"I don't answer to scum like you." He was breathing hard. "I'm a Colonel and a State Alchemist in the Amestrian military. What makes you think I'd let a maggot like you touch me?" 

Those, Roy realized, were the words he needed to ignite the rage in the other man. The Master focused intensely, hitting Roy in the mouth, the nose, and jaw with quick, successive jabs. Roy swayed, staggering backward to ultimately collapse, cracking his head hard against the stone floor. 

"I tried to warn you, Forty-Six." Roy could see him above and felt arms slide beneath him, rolling him over on his stomach, lifting him to his knees, a side of his face cold and pressed against the floor. Hidering said, "I have to thank you. That was fun. Normally, I'd use lube the first time, but--"

He felt himself being spread and pierced when the other's cock tore deep into his body, tearing a cry of pain and rage from him, the pain awakening him to the point where he became fully alert. Roy felt the creepy moistness of the other man's tongue glide from his lower neck up to his hairline. He shuddered.

"Try something like that again," Hidering said, "and I'll make good on my threat. Your cock or a foot." 

Roy clenched his teeth and closed his throat against any cries or screams of pain, no matter how much he needed to air them. The pain sliced deep into him, sharper with every thrust and lancing too far into his body. He struggled to move up enough to pull the big man's cock out of him, to concentrate instead on the texture of the other man's skin moving against his legs, the pain of his throbbing hand, the blood trickling onto his testicles, instead of the unending thrusts, each one more bruising than the last, and this man showed no signs of slowing.

In desperation, Roy tried to separate himself from the pain by pretending he wanted this, that it was nothing more than sex. After all, he had been with a few men in his younger years, but it was never like this. Roy tried, but the agony wouldn't subside, and when the other man's thrusting shifted: harder and faster, deeper, and unbearably painful, he noticed with growing horror that his own cock was erect, trapped beneath his stomach and the floor. 

No. It couldn't... Mustang wasn't enjoying this -- he hated it. He was being raped by a man he loathed, it felt like an enormous, blunted knife inside of him, but the evidence of his erection was right there. He could feel it pulse in time with the other man's thrusts. His face flushed, hot and ashamed, and he couldn't be sure who he hated more -- this man or himself.

The man kept plunging, driving for so long, and Roy's cock, trapped beneath him as his body was rocked forward and back -- it was too much stimulation when he felt that familiar too hard, too heady feeling coursing through him. His cock jerked and spasmed, and unbelievably, hot come surged out of him, spurting and sticky between the floor and his stomach, and the goddamn bastard would see that and think... He wouldn't think. He'd know. 

After what seemed like forever, the man heaved, burying himself deep inside of him, and froze. He stayed like that for a long while and pulled out of him.

The moment Hidering finished, he no longer seemed to even see Roy, which was okay with him. He got up and left, leaving Mustang alone to lick his wounds. 

He just wanted it to be over, to go back to his little room, but he couldn't even bring it up. He didn't want to be hurt anymore tonight; he didn't want the man to know what he did. He squeezed his eyes shut, fisting his fingers in his hair. God, he didn't want to have to walk through the labyrinth or into the slave room wearing his own come. 

Hearing the quiet roar of a shower, he tried to relax and quickly fell into sleep, too hurt, too destroyed to remain awake.

__

Hidering returned from the shower, drying himself off and frowning at the sight of the disrespectful, rebellious slave he'd just fucked into the floor. He'd made a decision while showering and moved toward the door without another glance. He opened it to find his Security men, and with a slight tilt of his head in the slave's direction, he said, "Chain him in the room out back, and have each of the labor slaves fuck him at least once."

As much as he had wanted to keep this one all to himself, punishing him would make him feel better and teach the slave respect. And he would learn, one way or the other. He smiled as he passed his men, looking forward to punishing Forty-Six for allowing himself to be touched by people other than himself. Electrocution was an excellent option, but he'd think it over.


End file.
